


Desidero

by theorchardofbones



Series: Desidero [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: First Time, M/M, Mild Language, Mutual Masturbation, Sharing a Bed, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans!Prompto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 05:47:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11479920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theorchardofbones/pseuds/theorchardofbones
Summary: Noctis thinks nobody knows what he's getting up to one night in bed... but Prompto does.





	Desidero

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Promptis Fan Week](https://promptisfanweek.tumblr.com) for the second weekly prompt 'first kiss'.
> 
> This is a rare attempt by me at porn with minimal plot; it's also my first Promptis fic. I'm falling for this pairing way too hard not to give them a shot.
> 
> Hit me up on tumblr [here](http://theorchardofbones.tumblr.com) or [here](http://flowercrownsandchocobos.tumblr.com)!

**[deːˈsiː.dɛ.roː]**  
_Latin — noun_

  * I want, I desire, I wish for.



* * *

It’s like an itch.

It’s the way his skin prickles whenever Noct is close, the way the sound of the prince’s voice goes right through him.

It’s an itch, and he can’t scratch it; can’t do much more than live in his own little fantasies, playing them over and over again, inventing a reality where Noct could ever, _would_ ever—

Gladio yells at him sometimes. Tells him to get his head back in the game, to come down from cloud nine. Truth is, the guy’s right. It’s getting distracting, and Prompto knows it’s only a matter of time before it messes everything up.

It wasn’t always like this — wasn’t always nights spent staring up at the roof of the tent, trying not to think about the bundle of limbs beside him. Back before they ventured out on the road it was easier, less complicated, but now that they spend all day every day together, the lines have started to blur.

At least… he thinks they have. It’s hard to tell sometimes, when Noct can go from smiles and teasing to stony silence in a matter of minutes. Sometimes he doesn’t know if there’s something there, or if it’s just wishful thinking.

They’re at some motel, off the side of the highway. He’s got that itch now, that under-the-skin feeling, and it won’t go away.

It was a long day: running errands for Dino, taking down a herd of garulas for a local settlement. He knows he should sleep, like the others — knows he’ll feel like shit in the morning. But still here he is, counting the cracks in the ceiling and listening to the hum of the generators in the lot outside.

Ignis sleeps like the dead; Gladio snores like there’s no tomorrow. Then there’s Noct, who throws legs out of the blankets, who tosses and turns. Noct, who manages to dig an elbow and a shoulder and a knee into him, all in rapid succession.

Noct isn’t tossing and turning tonight, isn’t thrashing about like he can’t get comfortable. Actually… for once, he’s unusually still.

Prompto sighs, and rolls onto his side facing the other bed. It’s not like he’s been keeping an eye on Noct’s sleeping habits; it’s just kind of hard to miss them when you spend twenty-four hours a day with the guy.

Gladio’s breathing catches in the other bed and he rolls around a little, mumbling as the mattress squeaks beneath him. The room falls silent once more.

Except…

He lies perfectly motionless, holding his breath so that he can listen. There it is again — rustling. He thinks maybe it’s Gladiolus, moving in his sleep, but he soon realises it’s closer than that. _Beside him._

And… Is that — breathing?

It dawns on him all at once, his cheeks burning: the rustling, the shallow breaths, the slight tug of the blanket against him. Noct is — _wow._

His first reaction is to giggle, but he just about manages to rein it in. He doesn’t want to draw attention, after all; the guys would never let Noct live it down. Still, it’s difficult — keeping still, pretending not to listen.

Wait, no — he’s not listening. He is _definitely not_ listening. Well... Okay, maybe a little — but it’s not his fault; quiet and all as Noct is trying to be, it’s hard to ignore the way his breathing steadily picks up as the minutes tick by.

When Noct’s elbow nudges him slightly, accidentally, it’s all Prompto can do not to jump clean out of his skin. He feels heat spread through him, from the point of contact against his back and down his spine, as if following the pathways of his nerves. When Noct’s leg brushes his, just gently, he has to press his teeth into his lip to keep from making a sound.

It’s not just his cheeks burning now: it’s his neck, his ears, prickling with impossible heat. Suddenly the collar of his tee is too tight, the fit of it around him too constricting, and there’s not a thing he can do about it.

He tries not to picture Noct pulling the tee off over his head, tries not to imagine the feel of those hands on his sides and… And how it would feel for Noct to hook a finger under the band of his boxers and tug them down, slowly down…

He has to press his face into his pillow to muffle his breath as it shudders out past his lips.

_Okay, this is too much. Should I stop him?_

He knows there’s another option, another answer to that _itch_ , to that heat coiling up in his belly, but… should he?

His hand is halfway down to his boxers when he stops, wondering if he’s being a complete creep. It’s not like Noct would get pissed at him for doing exactly what _he’s_ doing, it’s just the timing of it. There’s a difference between _Dude, you were jacking it in bed next to me_ and _Dude, you were jacking it in bed next to me because you heard me jacking it first._

There’s a little huff beside him, poorly stifled, and he realises with a rush that Noct is trembling.

_Fuck it._

It takes all the effort into the world to move soundlessly, parting his legs a little. He edges his hand down, under the band of his boxers, and when his fingers brush his thigh it’s wet and slick and… _Wow._ He didn’t realise he had it so bad.

The first touch is almost too much, almost makes him moan in a way that he would _not_ be able to pass off as innocent. He bites his lip, again, and when that almost isn’t enough he digs his teeth in harder, until it almost hurts.

At his back, he can hear Noct’s breath panting out, barely restrained. He hopes the guy doesn’t get there too soon; that’d spoil all his fun.

Prompto can’t see Noct’s face where he’s lying, but he conjures up an image of it in his head, of his eyes screwed shut in concentration. He’s just picturing the flutter of his eyelashes, dark and curled a little at the ends, when a thought pops into his head.

What is Noct thinking about right now, anyway?

Prompto knows what _he’s_ thinking about; knows what’s on his mind every time he lets his showers run on a little too long, or curls up away from the others at the edge of the tent in the middle of the night.

Just what is the prince imagining as he lies there, shivering with need, oblivious to the guy lying right beside him?

It’s almost too much to keep in control when he hears Noct give a muffled groan. He thinks maybe he makes a choked little sound in response as pleasure throbs through him; he stops, heart pounding, and listens with bated breath. Noct’s not making noise any more — he’s gone still, too.

_Shit._

Maybe if Prompto lies there, long enough, Noct will think he’s gone to sleep. Maybe this’ll all blow over, and come morning the prince will have forgotten about it.

Yeah, right.

Prompto feels a touch at his hip, where his shirt has ridden up — warm fingers, slick with sweat. He expects Noct to shake him, to scold him; instead those fingers grip a little at his hip before moving, where they find his wrist.

‘You don’t have to stop,’ Noct says, by his ear.

If holy light were to pour through the window right now, accompanied by a chorus of angel’s voices, Prompto would be no more surprised than he is right now.

He feels Noct nudge his hand downward, between his legs; feels his friend’s hand brush against him as he withdraws it. As Prompto waits, head spinning, he feels the blankets tug once more as Noct takes his hands back to their earlier task.

Prompto waits just long enough for the thundering of his heart to regulate a little before sitting up and tugging his tee off over his head, tossing it down on the ground. He slips under the covers again, this time facing Noct.

In the scant moonlight coming in through the shades, he can see the shape of Noctis’s nose, the curve of his lips. He sees Noct’s tongue dart out, wetting his lips; sees him turn, meeting his eye.

Noct’s hand finds his, nudging it back down between his own legs. He sees Noct pull the blanket down just a bit, enough that Prompto can watch as he edges the band of his underwear down past his dick and grabs hold of it.

So _that’s_ how he wants to do this?

At first, Prompto just watches — drinks in the sight of his friend touching himself as his cheeks flush in the dark. When he feels that throb between his legs again, that pang of need, he delves his hand into his boxers once more. For Noct’s sake, he tilts his hips back a little to give a better view; with a jolt, he realises Noct is watching his every move.

He tries not to think too much about what it all means, about what’s going on in Noct’s head. Just brushes his fingers over himself and — quietly, enough that he doesn’t wake the others — lets a little moan escape his lips.

Noct’s doing it, the biting-his-lip-to-keep quiet thing, and Prompto realises with a thrill that it’s because of _him_. Noct’s getting off right now, and he’s thinking about _him._

He’s feeling cocky; he moves his other hand into his boxers, dips it between his thighs. Brings it up and slips it into his mouth, skirting his tongue against the tip of it. Noct’s not so good at keeping quiet, and Prompto hears him choke out a groan that echoes dangerously around the room.

In the other bed, the rhythm of Gladio’s snoring halts for a moment before picking up again as before.

Prompto hears Noct breathe out shakily, as if he had been holding it in. When he looks down his friend’s hand is still there, gripping tight but not moving. He’s rigid, like he’s still afraid to move, even now.

Slowly, Prompto edges himself closer. Stops when he can feel his knee brush Noct’s, then shifts a little closer. Noct is there up against him, hard, and Prompto’s shaking as he edges his boxers down his hips, wriggling until they’re down by his knees.

Noct is still for another little while, and Prompto wonders if he moved too fast — but then he feels his friend’s hand move to his hip, then slide down to his ass where it kneads into his flesh. Close as they are, Prompto can feel the shift of Noct’s skin against his own as his other hand begins to move once more, sliding slickly over his dick.

Prompto has thought about this — not _this_ exactly, but close. None of his wildest imaginings, none of his most vivid wet dreams, can match up to reality.

He can see Noct shaking more visibly now; can feel his rhythm pick up a more frantic pace. He leans in puts a hand on Noct’s wrist to halt him.

‘Slow it down, dude,’ he murmurs. ‘Wait for me.’

He’s not expecting it when Noct’s hand digs into his ass, when he moves close and presses their mouths together. He’s not expecting Noct’s tongue to snake between his lips, seeking out his own; he’s definitely not expecting it when Noct’s hand slips down his skin, pushes his leg aside and moves between his thighs.

Noct’s fingers are clumsy, like he’s never done this before — Prompto realises with a lurch that Noct probably _hasn’t_. Does his friend know this is his first time, too? Does he know he’s thought about this so many times over the years?

 _Less thinking,_ he tells himself, _more enjoying._

And it’s not difficult — to shut his brain off, to focus on Noct’s mouth on his own, the feel of Noct’s fingers between his thighs, moving frantically over him. It’s definitely _good_ , although it could be _better_ ; he hesitates for a moment before reluctantly ending the kiss and leaning close to Noct’s ear.

‘Like this,’ he whispers, and his hand moves to guide Noct’s in a slower, smoother pace.

The prince picks it up quickly; the difference is enough to have Prompto turning his face into the pillow to muffle any noises he might make. He feels Noct’s lips on his neck, moving shakily down to his shoulder. When Noct nips at his skin, sucking a mark into the flesh just above his collarbone, it’s _this_ that almost proves to be his undoing.

He’s at the edge before he knows it; panting, he lifts his head and seeks out Noct’s mouth, his hand tilting up his chin. It’s like this, lips crushing hungrily against the prince’s, that he crashes over the edge, stifling his moan into the kiss.

Noct keeps it up until Prompto is a twitching, shivering mess; then his touch is gone, his kiss with it.

For a little while Prompto just lies back, sweat pooling under his spine, pulse gushing in his ears. When he opens his eyes, Noct is on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

‘Hey,’ he says, shifting onto his side. ‘Everything cool?’

Noct licks his lips; swallows, moves his head in a half-nod. Somehow, Prompto doesn’t believe him.

‘Is this…’ he begins hesitantly, dropping his voice even lower for fear of waking the others. ‘Is this not okay?’

Noct turns his head and looks at him then, sharply — so sharply Prompto’s worried he’s annoyed.

‘What? No, it’s not that.’

Prompto tries to play it off, punching Noct gently in the hip. Like they weren’t just doing things that would make him blush if his friend brought them up in the light of day.

‘Soooo,’ he says. ‘What, then?’

Noct sighs. He tips his head back and for a while he just stares up, brow furrowed. This isn’t the kind of pillow talk Prompto had hoped for.

‘I just…’ Noct begins. ‘I didn’t want it to be like this. _Us._ ’

Prompto feels a pang in his stomach, an acute sense of dread. Does he… Does he _regret_ it?

‘You wish it didn’t happen,’ he murmurs.

Noct almost forgets himself for a moment, hurriedly turning over and gripping Prompto by the side. Even now, in the dead of night, he’s careful to keep his hand low, away from where he knows Prompto doesn’t like to be touched.

‘It’s _not_ like that,’ Noct protests. ‘I just figured we’d actually… y’know, go on a date first. Or something. I don’t fuckin’ know.’

Prompto wonders if his friend can see the grin that splits across his features in the dark, entirely involuntary. He knows he can’t feel the way his heart leaps in his chest, at least — so he decides to show Noct what it feels like. Sidling closer, he slips his hand up to the back of Noct’s neck, angling his face the better to kiss him. He makes this one softer and slower than the others, gradually deepening it and teasing his tongue against Noct’s.

He feels a rush of pleasure go through him when Noct’s body responds, irresistibly; feels Noct press up against him, all grinding, needy hips and trembling hands.

‘So,’ Prompto says, in a brief reprieve between kisses. ‘We go on a date sometime. Don’t sweat it.’

It’s the last they mention of it; the last either of them say. There’s no room for words between the heated kisses, between the touch of their hands on each other’s skin — tentative at times, more urgent at others.

Prompto thinks he sees the first hint of grey lighting up the sky outside just as he coaxes Noct over the edge. They’ve been at this for hours; they’ll feel it during the day.

There’s still time to catch some sleep, even if it won’t count for much, so he nestles in close to Noct with his head on his shoulder and carefully tugs the band of his friend’s boxers back into place. It’s probably not the stealthiest of positions to fall asleep in, but even as the thought dawns on him his eyes are too heavy, his brain too sluggish to even think about moving.

The guys’ll probably give them hell when they wake up — so what? He just can’t seem to bring himself to care.


End file.
